Exhaustion
by sailboatsupernova
Summary: Pellaeon is tired. Thrawn just wants to get him to tomorrow.
**I wrote this instead of sleeping because I was pissed off and frustrated at an essay I had been trying to write.**

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Pellaeon sat on the edge of Thrawn's bed, elbows propped on his knees and his face buried in his hands. Despite it having the same amount of hours as every one before it, today had been an exceptionally long day. Hell, it had been an exceptionally long week. Between trying to rebuild what had been destroyed by the Rebellion, watching the bridge for almost nineteen hours straight, and arguing with Thrawn over budget cuts- _budget cuts!_ \- he was tired. Completely emotionally and physically drained from everything that was happening. Even the things he knew he could not fix were beginning to grate on his nerves, and Pellaeon felt like every little incorrect thing that he noticed was like sandpaper rubbing over raw, exposed flesh. He and Thrawn were about two inconsiderate words away from snapping at each other.

Maybe that was the New Republic's plan. Just let the Empire run itself into the ground and die the undignified death of crumbling under its own stress.

Pellaeon may have cried if he wasn't too tired to even do that. He would have at least appreciated the relief if would have given him.

He felt the bed dip behind him, and wondered if he had been so caught up in his thoughts that he had missed the other man's approach or if Thrawn was just that quiet when he wanted to be. Hands settled themselves against his shoulder blades and thumbs started to rub gentle circles against tense muscles. Pellaeon could feel their warmth through his undershirt and he let out an exhaled that stuttered as if he were sobbing. Thrawn pressed his lips against the crook of his neck, sitting still for a long enough moment for Pellaeon to figure out that he was thinking. He couldn't bring himself to ask him what he was thinking about. Pellaeon couldn't tell if he didn't want to know or was just too tired to care.

Inhaling, Thrawn pulled away and let his nose brush against the edge of Pellaeon's lightly stubbled jaw. Pellaeon grimaced as he mentally added shaving to his list of things to do.

"Off of official record," Thrawn began and Pellaeon could swear he smelt the faint scent of alcohol on his breath. He was almost tempted to ask him where he kept it and if there was any left. "I think you would look very attractive with a beard."

Pellaeon snorted. "Imperial dress code disagrees, I think."

"Imperial dress code can go shove itself." That gets a short laugh from Pellaeon, and confirms his suspicion of Thrawn having something to drink. His insults got a little more frequent and a bit odd once he had more than a few glasses of anything above sixty proof. Pellaeon can feel the other smiling as Thrawn leans further into him, pressing his chest against his back and smoothing his hands over his shoulders. "I am sorry for earlier," Thrawn mutters, sliding his hands down to grip the tops of Pellaeon's biceps.

Pellaeon can hear his smile diminishing as he speaks, tries to visualize it in his head. Tries to remind himself that while Thrawn may not be human, he is still just as fallible as one and is certainly just as close to the end of his rope as Pellaeon is. "I know. I'm sorry too." It wasn't even one of their worst arguments. Pellaeon is sure that that's why it bothers him so much. They're both tired and while they always keep it off the bridge there is nothing to keep them from sniping at each other once they're alone. Ridged belief in Imperial codes of honor and respect were the only things keeping them from throwing the first punch at this point.

He doesn't hear Thrawn sigh, but he can feel it. Pellaeon can relate to the sound, how it seems to hold all of Thrawn's tension. His hands start to slowly rub up and down. "You put too much pressure on yourself." Thrawn's voice rumbles against Pellaeon's back. It's an easy thing to find comfort in, and he doesn't fight his own body relaxing against the Admiral's. "You worry too much, about things that you should not be worried about."

"I worry about things that should worry the Empire," Pellaeon rebuts, unable to put any conviction behind the words.

Thrawn makes a sound. It's probably a scoff. Pellaeon can't tell and he isn't in the mood to ask. "You worry about things I have already considered and dismissed. If they don't worry me why would you allow them to worry you?"

It's a long standing argument and Pellaeon would have been irritated at Thrawn for mentioning it, except there's no accusation in his words. Just a soft, tired worry.

It keeps Pellaeon from snapping at him in his response. "That I'm worrying about things you have dismissed should please you. That's part of my job." He pulls his face out from his hands, clasping them together and resting his chin against them. He keeps his eyes forwards and Thrawn does not deter him of this.

"That it is," Thrawn agrees, hands instilling for a second. "You take it too far on occasion. This has been one of them. You cannot bear every burden the Empire has to offer. Your health would deteriorate drastically and as someone of importance to the Empire-"

Pellaeon snorts and Thrawn reaches up to cup his chin in a hand, tugging gently to get Pellaeon to turn just enough to look him in the eye. "As someone of importance to the Empire and to me personally, I will not allow you to do that to yourself."

A sigh escapes Pellaeon through his nose, and he gives Thrawn a tired smile. "I know."

"Then come here."

His smile deepens just a bit as he turns around on the bed to face Thrawn, who is thankfully in a similar state of dress in civilian clothes. Pellaeon doesn't what to think about the reminder of work the starched uniform would have given him. His stomach rolls a bit at the thought. He presses himself against Thrawn who wraps his arms around him, holding him against him as Pellaeon props his chin on a shoulder. The silence is comforting, maybe more so than the words, and Pellaeon is grateful for it.

He is almost as grateful for it as he is of Thrawn's next question. "Do you want to sleep here?"

Pellaeon closes his eyes in relief at the thought of sleeping. "Hell yes."


End file.
